


Fragile Like a Hand Grenade

by lookimadeahat



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Season/Series 04, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 03:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookimadeahat/pseuds/lookimadeahat
Summary: Ed isn't coping well with the brain damage from being on ice. His coping mechanisms are about as unhealthy as they come.THIS FIC IS UNDERGOING EDITING AND REVISING TO MAKE THE FIRST CHAPTER BETTER FIT WITH THE REST OF THE STORY. UPDATES SHOULD COME SOON.





	Fragile Like a Hand Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:  
**  
Descriptions of Drug Use
> 
> This work heavily features drug use. I have done quite a bit of research on this topic (Google probably thinks I'm planning to try drugs or something).
> 
> This fic is not meant to glorify drug use or encourage anyone to use or try any illegal substances. If you are triggered by drug use, this fic is probably not for you.

Ed was not in the best place, literally and figuratively.

Earlier that day, Lee had tested him to help him discover what was wrong with his brain, and, earlier that day, he had felt so hopeful. Now, however, the anxiety and hopelessness were overwhelming. He didn’t even know how it started, but Ed was currently drowning in a black pit of fear and despair...and alcohol.

Ed knew he was incurable. He didn’t know how or why or when he realized it, but it was suddenly undeniably clear to him that he would be stuck this way—a pathetic, feeble _moron_—forever.

That evening, he had been so miserable, completely unable to cope with the situation, and desperate. He’d given Butch food and told him to stay put until he got back, however long that would end up taking. He’d then promptly grabbed the wad of cash he’d received from Cherry that day and left.

Now, Edward found himself in a seedy bar on the edge of the Narrows, more than halfway drunk on the last drops of his third grasshopper of the hour and unbearably depressed. He just wanted to enjoy himself. Unfortunately, the alcohol was acting as a depressant in more ways than one.

The closest he’d gotten to true distraction was watching a tall, overweight man with pasty skin and a dark brown buzz cut and the many..._odd_ characters who kept approaching him. The man was clearly a drug dealer, what with the endless stream of clubgoers in the midst of either giggles or drug withdrawals, depending on the person, approaching him and attempting to covertly give the man money. Almost all of them failed miserably at being ‘covert.’ Not only that, but a man—tall, black, and frighteningly emaciated—stood behind him, higher than Everest and jumping and swaying about without a moment’s pause, and whispered in the dealer’s ear every few minutes, only to run off and reappear a minute or two later, pockets overflowing with what Ed assumed had to be drugs.

Watching the man, Ed felt more and more tempted to approach him. If alcohol wasn’t working to cheer him up, maybe drugs would. Was it stupid? Sure. But Ed didn’t see a problem with that. He was stupid, after all. Irreparably and infinitely idiotic. What would it matter if he did something stupid? He’d just be living up to the reality of his mental state. Right?

After debating for nearly an hour, and downing two and a half more grasshoppers, he decided that he was going to do it, consequences be damned. As he walked towards the man, he heard a familiar voice echoing in the back of his head.

_“Don’t do this, Ed.”_

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he muttered, eyes darting around the room to find the apparition. He only saw club-goers. “Too cowardly to even show up?”

_“Edward. You aren’t_ listening _to me,”_ Riddler chided, _“Drugs? Not only drugs, but drugs after you’ve already consumed an ungodly amount of alcohol for this short a time period. Are you an idiot?!”_

“Yeah,” Ed replied flatly, bitterly.

He could feel Riddler shrinking down, thoroughly scolded. Ed smiled, straightening and starting his march towards the drug dealer once again. Until—

_“Don’t do it, Ed. You’ll regret it,”_ his voice was soft, almost comforting. It was something Ed hadn’t heard from him in years, and it infuriated him.

“If you have such a big issue with it, why don’t you come out and take care of things yourself?” he snapped. Riddler stayed stubbornly silent. Ed waited for something, any sign that Riddler was planning to take over. There was nothing. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Too afraid to show your face now that we’re not the smartest person in the room?” he mocked. “Why don’t you run back to wherever the Hell you’ve been hiding since you chose to abandon me—”

_“It’s not like that. You don’t know what you’re talking about,”_ Riddler replied, his voice sounding almost...upset.

Ed ignored him. “—Go back to where you’ve been hiding and wallowing in self pity, and let me deal with this the way I need to deal with it.”

_“Deal with it?_ Deal with it?!” Riddler shouted, _“Ed this is not dealing with it. This is moronic. This is_ dangerous. _We are going to end up dead in a ditch if you go down this path! A few minutes or hours of relief is nothing! Not compared to what you’re risking. This is not a healthy way of coping!”_

“Who thought it was a good idea to take drugs to see Penguin after we killed him? I recall giving you some advice, advice which you ignored. So don’t you _dare_ lecture _me_ on healthy coping mechanisms,” Ed growled. He could feel the shock, the disbelief of his headmate at his aggressive response, but he didn’t care. “So...You can take over and stop this and do whatever _you think_ would be a ‘healthy coping mechanism,’ or you _go away._ Those are your only options, or I swear I will make sure we don’t survive the night.”

And with that, Ed was alone again. The music was pumping loudly around him, lights were flashing, and party-goers were dancing and laughing and talking, completely carefree, all oblivious to one of the biggest moments in his life: the first time he beat Riddler, the first time he really _won_ a battle with Riddler. And he felt good. But not quite good _enough._

He made his way towards the large man he had seen people approaching all night, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh.

When he was close enough for the man to hear him, he said, “Are you a dealer?”

The man stopped his conversation, turning from the tall, unhealthily skinny man who’d been conversing with all night to look at Ed. “What?”

“You’re a drug dealer, are you not?” Ed rephrased, a bit snappily.

“Man, you got me confused with someone else,” he said with an easy laugh, a missing tooth visible as he smiled, “Why don’t you run along.”

Ed gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Come on,” he grumbled, “You _are_ a dealer. Why else would you be talking to this guy?”

He gestured to the lanky man the dealer had just been speaking to and who had been disappearing and reappearing with pockets full of drugs all evening. The man was currently fidgeting about and grinding his teeth while his eyes flashed wildly, seemingly unable to stop.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” the man growled, stepping forward dangerously. 

“Then what about all the other people who’ve been coming up to you tonight? I’ve been watching. At the bar. Either you’re selling, or you’re the best conversationalist on the planet and word is getting around.”

“Why do you care what I’m doing or not doing?” the man snarled. Ed looked at the ground. Taking that as his answer, the man jeered, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Because I want some,” Ed blurted, looking up again.

The man looked Ed up and down and scoffed, _“You?”_

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Ed snapped, defensive. He sighed. “Look, I’ve had a rough time recently. I just came into some money, and I want to feel good. That’s all there is to it.”

After another long look at Ed, the man acquiesced. “Alright. What’s your name?”

“Ed.”

“Aaron,” he introduced himself with a nod, “So, what are you looking for, Ed?”

“Um...drugs?” Ed’s voice squeaked rather embarrassingly on the last word.

Aaron, and the jittery man behind him, both laughed, though not unkindly. “I meant what kind of high are you looking for?”

“Oh, um, something that will help me...have fun, I guess.”

“Okay. I mean, are you looking for a party-all-night kind of fun? Or are you looking for a chill kind of fun? Or are you looking for an out of this world experience?”

“Um...How about the first one?”

“Alright. Rush,” Aaron turned to the man he’d been talking to when Ed had approached him—‘Rush’, apparently. He whispered something to the man, who darted off towards the back of the club. “He’s getting some of the good stuff for ya,” he told Ed with a disarming smile, “It’s gonna be fifty dollars. That fine with you?”

Ed nodded quickly, grabbing his wallet and producing the cash. Aaron smiled easily, accepting the crisp fifty dollar bill. Just as he did, Rush appeared again.

Aaron nodded, “He’s good.”

At Aaron’s confirmation, Rush produced a small plastic bag with a single, tiny ball of paper, filled with _something_, inside and a second plastic bag with a light yellowish-white substance crushed up. “Snort or swallow?”

“Huh?”

“Which one do you want? One’s ready to snort, the other’s ready to swallow,” Rush explained.

“...What drug is it?” Ed inquired, shifting uncomfortably.

“Speed,” Aaron replied, his voice smooth, “Snorting will give you a faster high, swallowing will give you a longer one.”

“Um, I’ll take—I’ll snort it.”

“Here you go man,” Rush said, offering him the bag of fine, yellowish powder, “Have _fun.”_

“And if you like it, I’m here most weeknights. I can always hook you up with some more, or if you wanna try something else, I’ve got plenty of options,” Aaron offered.

“Thanks.”

Ed rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. He’d never taken amphetamine by itself before, and he’d never snorted it, but Barbara had supplied him with amphetamine cut with a hallucinogen when they were ‘working together’ after he’d thought he had killed Oswald. What a mess that had been. But this was different. This was going to be _fun._ It was going to let him enjoy himself, _really_ enjoy himself, for the first time since he’d come off of ice.

When he finally got to the bathroom, he opened the door to find two guys standing by a small table with a lamp on it, one of whom was bent over, doing lines of what appeared to be cocaine.

“Oh, sorry! Sorry,” he mumbled, turning to leave.

“No, no, you’re good, man. You need help breaking it up?” one of the guys, a short, blond kid with peachy skin who looked no older than twenty, offered.

Ed stared at him, confused.

“Your bag?” the kid clarified, gesturing to the baggy of speed Ed had completely forgotten to make any effort to conceal on his way to the bathroom.

“Would you?”

“Yeah, no problem!” the kid offered, waving Ed over to join them. The other kid, a tall, portly guy with thick black hair and dark brown skin, finally stood up, sniffling.

“Hey man! What’s up? I’m Abbas, nice to meet you,” he said, giving Ed a light punch to the arm. This made absolutely no sense to Ed, but he opted to lightly punch Abbas back, which earned him a snort of laughter from the two.

“I’m Ed.”

“Here,” the blond kid, said, taking Ed’s baggy from him and dumping it onto the surface of a magazine on the table, beginning to break it into lines with a credit card. “I’m Sam. You need something to snort it with?”

Ed nodded. Abbas offered him a very short plastic straw, which Ed gratefully took, quickly leaning over and snorting the two lines of speed. It burned. Oh God, it _burned._

He stood up, eyes watering. “Thanks.”

“No problem, dude,” Sam replied, “You don’t look like the kind of guy who does this a lot. Figured you might need some help.”

“Yeah, this isn’t really my scene,” Ed admitted.

“You wanna hang with us?” Abbas offered.

Ed was surprised, unsure...But he was here to have a good time. Even if they were young and had concerning levels of knowledge about the type of people who ‘do this a lot’, they were nice, and they seemed like fun people.

“Ah, what the Hell, why not?”

Abbas and Sam led Ed to a booth near the middle of the club, where he was introduced to a group of college students: a rather obnoxious brunette named Sarah, a sweet redhead named Claire, and a terrifying mountain of a man named Jason—who was definitely hallucinating. Ed was glad he didn’t take whatever that guy was on. After a little bit—he honestly couldn’t tell if it had been five or thirty minutes since leaving the bathroom—Ed started to feel invigorated. This felt great. He hadn’t felt this good with the pills Barbara gave him. Why were these so much better? Maybe it was just the company. Or maybe it was a higher quality product. Or maybe—

“It’s starting to hit you now, isn’t it?” Claire giggled.

“How can you tell?”

“Uh, _hello?_” Sarah crowed, “You’re shaking the whole damn table.”

Ed looked down and noticed his legs bouncing quickly, bumping the table in a methodical series of taps. He didn’t even feel like he was moving them, but he did feel like he wanted to move.

“Do you want to go dance?” Claire offered, “You’ll probably like moving around some.”

“Yes,” Ed answered, far too quickly, “Yes, please. I need to _move_.”

Claire grabbed his hand and pulled Ed towards the dancefloor. Ed had never been one for dancing, but tonight he was enjoying it immensely. He bounced around to the heavy beat, laughing and talking to everyone who came near him. It was surprising how much he wanted to talk to _everyone_ about _anything_. And all of it was _great._

A long time—or maybe it wasn’t very long; it was impossible to tell—and many new 'friends' later, Ed made his way over to the bar again. He felt happy, but sober. Logically, Ed knew he wasn’t sober, but he felt more sober than before he’d even started drinking. And Ed, happy or no, was not in the mood to feel sober.

“Bartender, one vodka—No, no! Two! Two shots of vodka!” Ed demanded, words cascading from his mouth faster than he could fully process what he himself was saying. “Please. I’m sorry for forgetting to say that. My mother did teach me manners. I promise. I’m really a very polite person...most of the time. What’s your name? Oh! Thank you!” 

Ed picked up the shots, walking away from the bar without waiting for an answer to his question. He quickly downed the shots, leaving an angry fire burning in his throat, as he walked back to the table Sam and the others had been sitting at when he and Claire went off to dance.

“Hey!” Abbas shouted, cheerfully, as Ed approached. “How ya feelin’?” 

_“Good_. This is great. This is _fun_,” Ed babbled, “But what time is it? Do you know? I feel like I should get back to my apartment if it’s late. But only if it’s too late. If it’s late, but not _too_ late, then I’ll stay because this is...this is—”

“Great?” Sarah supplied, something like a twinge of annoyance in her tone.

Ed honestly couldn’t be bothered. He was about to continue rambling, when Sam interrupted.

“It’s a little past three.”

“In the _morning?!”_

“Yeah,” Sam answered, seeming confused by Ed’s alarm.

God, how long had he been dancing? He’d gotten to the bar at six. He’d probably gotten the speed a bit after eight, taken it sometime between eight fifteen and eight twenty. Or eight thirty. It was hard to know. But he was pretty sure he couldn’t have been dancing for nigh on seven hours. And yet, there was the evidence staring him in the face: bright numerals on Sam’s watch proclaiming **3:06 AM**.

“You coming down from it now?” Abbas asked him.

“No. I actually feel kind of hyper still. I'm still really happy. I like being happy.”

“You should be crashing pretty soon. You took speed, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you got another hour or two, max,” Sam said.

Ed nodded. “Then what?”

“Then try to sleep, probably. That’s what I normally do.”

“Okay,” Ed said, mulling over his options. Grundy could be worried at this point, and Ed would rather him not destroy his apartment while Ed was gone. “I should probably go before I crash, then. Make sure I can get back to my apartment okay and all that. Thank you for such a great night. I...enjoyed myself...a lot.”

And with that, Ed headed back to his apartment, slowly feeling the high wearing off, and regretting his choice to have two shots of vodka more and more with each step.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, DO NOT, under any circumstances, use drugs recreationally. There are far better ways to have fun and to cope with pain than using drugs.


End file.
